


For Winnetou

by Karla1209



Series: Missing Scenes [1]
Category: Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Blood, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Old Shatterhand, Pain, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 09:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15816615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karla1209/pseuds/Karla1209
Summary: After Old Shatterhand freed Winnetou and his father, the chiefs return accompanied by numerous Apaches and attack the railway workers and the Kiowas. In the course of the fight Shatterhand knockes out Intschu tschuna and is then stabbed by Winnetou with a knife in the throat and through his tongue, because the young chief believes that the Westman killed his father. The scene plays immediately after the fight, still at the place of the attack.





	For Winnetou

Blood and pain!

My whole being was determined by these two impressions.

I smelled blood, I felt blood on my hands, on my neck, on my shirt, which stuck wet on my chest.

I sensed that I was lying in a pool of my own blood.

My mouth was full of blood, I tasted it, I tried to swallow it or spit it out, but the pain that each of these movements caused me was almost unbearable.

Pain!

A sharp blade, mercilessly rammed into my throat! Winnetou had wanted to kill me!

He was aiming for my heart, but his knife had slipped off the tiny box in my shirt pocket, penetrated my jaw and stepped through my tongue. The wound burned like fire and the pain combined with the constant loss of blood sought to draw me into a gracious blackness, which I wanted to indulge.

Darkness, peace, rest.

And yet, my mind resisted the temptation to follow, for I feared I would die as soon as I stopped fighting. But could I still fight at all? Was not everything lost? Wouldn't I die anyway?

"Yes!" The fear screamed in my ears. "You will die here! In this clearing, in your own blood! Wounded by the man you could have loved."

Anger grew in my mind! I did not want to die! Not like that, not here, not now!

Anger. Dark eyes full of anger.

Winnetou must have believed that I had murdered his father. His eyes had lit up with such anger that it had put a stab in my heart, which hurt me even more than the jolt of his knife into my throat.

I had wanted to save both of them, Intschu tschuna and his son, but they had not believed me, they had misjudged me. Winnetou hated me! And it seemed to me that this was more frightening than the certainty of leaving my life here.

I would die, that alone was bad enough. But having to die without being able to tell Winnetou once again that I wanted to be his friend, that I wanted to protect him, that I had freed him and his father, that I had been ready to risk my life for him and his Apaches in the battle against Lightning Knife, that was unbearable.

And yet it was certainty. I would leave this world without seeing the gleam of those dark eyes again, which had made me, in the moment of our first encounter, devoted to the young Apache in a completely irrational way - in admiration, in friendship, in love.

In love?

Yes! I loved Winnetou!

It no longer mattered, I died in this clearing, there was no reason to lie to myself, and the Lord could read in my heart anyway. And realizing that I would die as the enemy of the man who already owned my heart, tears came to my eyes that I could not stop.

They ran down my cheeks, mingling with my blood. But I did not care. May everyone see it. May everyone know that I cried because I gave my life without even being close to the person I already loved endlessly, at least in friendship.

A new wave of pain rolled through my mind as tears began to form into a sob, involuntarily accompanied by a movement of my pierced tongue. And again darkness wanted to encase me, but this time, I would surrender to it. Everything was lost anyway.

But the moment I decided it was not worth fighting anymore for a life without the Apache, I felt a touch different to the shaking and jolting of my old Sam who wanted me to keep conscious.

This touch was infinitely gentle. Delicate fingers carefully explored my neck, the area around the puncture wound. Then I heard energetic commands in that sonorous but foreign language of the Apaches. I wanted to open my eyes to see who took care of me in such a caring way, but the blackness was already too powerful.

After the words of the Indian people seemed to leave because I heard running. Moreover, I heard my Sam, who shouted and scolded. They took him away from me obviously.

Then it was quiet and again I felt the touch of those searching hands, which, although they took care of the gaping wound, caused me no pain, but let the feeling of a comforting closeness and security blossom in me, which I could not explain to myself and that still enveloped me like a warm blanket.

Just as I made the next attempt to open my eyes, the fingers wandered from my neck to my cheeks, wiping away the tears that had left their wet marks there, and then approached my eyelids, lifting them up a little. The penetrating light blinded me painfully and I could see nothing.

All too soon the hands disappeared and at the same time I heard footsteps approaching. Someone seemed to have done what my savior had sent him before.

But I finally wanted to be sure! I had to see what was going on. And I needed to know who took care of me. With an almost superhuman effort, I finally managed to open my eyes. And whom I recognized made me forget all the pain for a moment.

Winnetou!

The compassionate hands that had examined my wound and wiped away my tears, they belonged to Winnetou. His dark eye rested on me, seeking. And in his eyes was no longer hate, but something else. Kummer? Pity? Concern?

I would have liked to lose myself even longer in these black velvet eyes, to say something, to explain me, but already my senses faded.

Only as if through a distant fog, I felt that Winnetou bandaged my wound, that he lifted my head infinitely cautious and in the end bedded it on something soft. Then I heard it again, his sonorous voice issuing orders that I did not understand.

And finally, I sank completely in the soft blackness that wooed me. But this time I was not afraid because I was not alone in it. Dark eyes full of silky splendor floated in front of me, resting on me, warmed my soul with their gaze and made me understand that I had to fight.

And I would fight!

I would live!

Because I wanted to see them again, the twinkling stars behind thick eyelashes, the lights that meant the world to me and whose owner had taken care of me, even though he had just wanted to kill me. That had to mean something and I understood what was required of me:

I had to live - for Winnetou!


End file.
